Adventura, Poetry
Leave a Comment

Mother’s Daughter

I am my mother’s daughter

and by that, I don’t mean
I have her grace, no,
I don’t mean that at all,
in fact, I have none.

I don’t have her strength
or her faith or her
unbending will–
she gives too much
to too many
while all I ever do is
take.

But I digress;

I am my mother’s daughter
because she never shows
signs of weakness
and I’ve learned
to only bleed
internally.

I am my mother’s daughter
because when she gets on a plane,
she imagines all the ways
a person could die
in the air;
and I tell her she’s silly
as I imagine all the ways
a person could die
in their worries.

I am my mother’s daughter
because when the sun sets
and the lights are dimmed,
our breath gets short.

I am my mother’s daughter
and the voices in our heads
may speak in different tongues
but they are still voices
just the same.

This entry was posted in: Adventura, Poetry

by

Hi, I’m Emily and I like to think of myself as a kaleidoscope, but one that ranges from a spectrum of commitment issues to emotional hoarding, all circling around varying shades of anxiety. People say I have trouble ‘staying present’ and I’ve found that daydreaming becomes significantly less acceptable in your 20’s.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s